


Arcadian Tales: Self-Insert Edition

by CurlyCue



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Multi, Polyamorous Character, Reader Is Kind Of A Badass, SO, Sex Talk, also um?? screw merlin that guy is a jackass, and reader is also dating them, both of them. and reader is also dating krel so like. checkmate atheists, jim and claire are dating, ok but like also??, reader is gender-neutral, since reader is a polyamorous hoe just like me, this is intimate but not like............. smut, um. anatomy lesson is both literal and innuendo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlyCue/pseuds/CurlyCue
Summary: Some ideas I had for my self-insert in Trollhunters & 3Below





	1. Anatomy Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> hello im in love with jim lake jr, claire nuñez, and krel tarron and literally nothing can stop me from dating all three of them at once
> 
> im so frickin excited for season 2 of 3below to come out but at the same time these next 2 days are the only thing standing between me and more krel-centered content so im clinging to them with all the strength of a puppy-dog playing tug of war
> 
> so far, im not sure how i feel about my portrayal of krel. i kind of like it, but he feels off from the canon-- not that there's any harm in that, i suppose. let me know what you think

His hands trail over your skin with a light touch, almost as reverent as he is curious. “You’re sure this is fine?” He asks, casting a glance your way for confirmation even as his fingertips graze the side of your neck. It tickles a bit, but it’s nothing you can’t handle, and you nod and give him a reassuring smile, reaching over to pat the back of his hand with your own. 

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t okay with me, Krel,” you tell him, patiently affectionate and admittedly somewhat amused. “But I appreciate your concern.” 

Reassured in your express permission, he doesn’t need any further prompting; his curiosity wins out, and you shiver slightly as he familiarizes himself with the feeling of your skin. It begins innocently enough: it’s not that either of you have any sort of ulterior motive or sneaky plan-- he just needs to become more familiar with human biology, and he trusts you to help explain things to him. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself when your heart races in your chest as his thumbs brush gently over your collarbone. Luckily, he doesn’t notice the way your nerves cause you to wet your lips, as he’s preoccupied pressing carefully around your collarbone, gently investigative, and studying its structure. 

“It’s bone,” you murmur. At the sound of your voice, his eyes flick upward to meet your own from where he’s leaned down to examine it more closely. In his gaze, you can see recognition-- good. He must remember the earlier conversation the two of you had about different types of cells and tissues; he’d had some vague understanding of the concept from previous lessons, but the knowledge had been beyond basic-- the discussions the two of you had on the subject had been enlightening for him and entertaining for the both of you. 

“That one in particular is commonly referred to as the collarbone, but the scientific term for it is the clavicle,” you continue. “It connects the shoulder bones and basically helps hold together the arms and torso. Most people don’t know this, but it’s actually really important to the proper function of the arms; without it, they wouldn’t be able to hang loosely or move properly.” 

“Fascinating,” he breathes, trailing a single finger down the slender bone, his feather-light touch stopping to rest at the top of the sternum, just above the valley of your chest. You can’t help the way your next breath comes a little sharper than normal: and this time, he does notice, his eyes lighting in question. 

“Uh,” you stutter, feeling more than a little bit flustered at this point. For the second time in as many minutes, you see recognition flash through Krel’s eyes-- this time, though, it’s followed up by something different. Cautious curiosity, you think. “Sorry.” Your apology comes out more quickly than you want it to, almost hastily. It seems your fluttering nerves are starting to get the best of you. “Since it’s so close to the more vulnerable areas of the body, like the neck and the chest, it can be pretty… sensitive, I guess.”

Despite how attentive he’s being, it definitely takes a second for him to fully process your explanation-- as soon as it does, though, there’s a flash of shock on his face, almost akin to alarm, and the light press of his fingers disappears from your skin. It surprises you to see him retreat back into himself so quickly-- as reserved as Krel can be, he almost never restrains himself when there’s a possibility he could learn something, and _especially_ not around you-- but the momentary confusion is cleared up fairly quickly when he finally manages to express himself. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his brows drawn sharply together, hands hovering near his own chest now. As you study him, eyes wide, your eyes linger on the way his fingers fidget against one another. “Did I scare you? I didn’t hurt you, did I? I didn’t know. I apologize.”

It’s so starkly not the reaction you’re expecting that you don’t even have the ability to process it for a good minute or so. In the meantime, your response slips out unbidden, making it obvious just how completely lost you are. “I… What? ... You don’t… It’s not...?” You trail off, unable to even truly continue, and for a moment, you both bask in a quiet stew of awkward confusion; no sooner than it arrives, though, the moment is broken by your soft, bashful laughter, and you bury your face in your hands to hide the way your flustered state shows itself in your expression. “Ah! Sorry, it’s just, that’s not what I meant. I don’t mean it’s sensitive in the same way that an open wound is or anything, it’s more like… uh…” How can you possibly explain this in a way that won’t destroy you with embarrassment?

_God, I can’t believe I have to have the sex talk with my boyfriend._

“... This probably isn’t relevant to you guys since your people aren’t biological, so you most likely don’t, uh... reproduce in the same way we do.” You begin carefully, prying your hands away from your face and forcing yourself to at least feign a casual vibe-- if you’re going to do this, then you’re going to face it without hiding. Of course, now that you’re facing it-- and him-- head-on, you immediately notice the effect that the mood of the room is having on him; your bashful reaction is spreading to him, and from the raised eyebrows and blush barely beginning to bloom over his cheeks, it’s clear that he’s getting an idea of where you’re going with this. 

“It’s not a part of the reproductive system or anything, but it’s still sort of… intimate. A light touch in a vulnerable area, I guess, and the inherent trust involved. It’s nice. Plus, uh, you already know I think you’re wonderful and super cute, so that’s also part of it.” You laugh, scratching gently at the back of your neck and doing your best to ignore the warmth in your cheeks, closing your eyes to allow yourself a short reprieve from seeing this play out. “And the soft touch lights up the nervous system like electricity running through a circuit that’s just been closed-- in a good way, I mean, and it sends all sorts of signals and-- well, basically, this is a really long-winded way of saying I... really like it when you touch me?” 

The end of your ramble comes out fast and high-pitched and winds up sounding more like a question, but the question isn’t whether or not it’s true; that much is clear to both of you, and the way you glance at him as if to ask if it’s okay for you to feel that way only reinforces the conclusion. In answer to the unspoken question, you watch as Krel relaxes slightly, letting his hands stop fidgeting to drop softly into his lap. 

“Oh,” he says. For a moment, his fingers trace patterns over the back of his opposite hand, and then he seems to wring his wrists before slowly reaching out to you again. “That’s… excellent, actually.” It’s funny: Krel’s tone of voice sounds more certain than his actions would lead you to believe, and it’s again totally contrary to what you were expecting. This time, though, he’s surprising you in a good way-- he’s not scared this time. He’s not grossed out or put off like you suspected he might be. Instead, he brings his hands up to make gentle contact with the upper end of your collarbone, resting one there while the other moves up to cup your neck. This time, when your breath catches, you notice his does too-- along with his gaze, catching onto yours and flickering between both eyes as the two of you lean closer together. “Because I really like it when you touch me, too,” he murmurs. The words are quiet, but in the sparse inches of distance, they echo in your head like the ring of a bell, and before you know it, your hands have found their way to him: one cupping his cheek, the other resting on his chest, and the way he leans into your touch is just _irresistible._

“Can I kiss you?” The words tumble from your lips before the thought can even fully form, so soft that it’s more of a breath than a sentence. 

Nevertheless, he replies just as breathlessly, as he leans in just a bit. “Please?”

Your movement to bridge the gap is more rushed than his-- quicker and less tentative-- but it’s not desperate or brash. When your lips press against the warmth of his own, it’s soft, gentle, and mostly chaste, and you’re both grinning when you pull back. It’s barely a second before you’re leaning back in, a warmth in your chest as you push him back so the two of you are in a more comfortable position on the couch, lips meeting again and again until they’re fitting into each other’s warmth instead of against it.

Finally, you break apart for a final time, breathing somewhat heavily, and you just bury your head into his chest and grin, blindly moving your hand up his arm to twine his fingers with yours. The quiet is peaceful, and the moment isn’t broken when he speaks up, the way you’re pressed to his chest making his voice rumble strangely in your ears. 

“I’m not sure my Akiridion body has anything you would be familiar with,” he muses. “But if you want to try things in this form, I’m certain we could figure it out.”

You just smile. “Hey, I mean, I’m willing to learn and open to new experiences, so don’t count me out just yet. You’re beautiful in every form you occupy, and you deserve to know it.” If you notice the way his breath comes in quicker at your comment, you don’t say anything, keeping it to yourself with a grin. “And besides, we’re both figuring this out. You’re learning what’s good for me, and I wanna do the same for you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Krel whispers after a moment of silence, squeezing your fingers and wrapping his free arm around your waist in a loose show of affection before continuing in his signature teasing tone. “I must say, I’m very much looking forward to these anatomy lessons.”


	2. The Cindorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confronting a bounty hunter - based on 3Below, S2E1: "Moving Day" (16:26)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not like... surper happy with how this turned out. but ok
> 
> i wanted to incorporate the whole Interrogating Him About Varvatos' Whereabouts thing but i lost my inspiration before i got to it and honestly the ending feels kinda like a mic drop as is

_“Because Cindorites are indestructible!”_ Zadra shouts, setting your mind abuzz-- nothing is truly indestructible, so this bounty hunter must have a weakness, but you’ll have to think fast if you want to salvage this. 

_What do I know?_ You think. _He’s a Cindorite, from the fiery planet Cindor-- like cinders-- and he’s aggressive, doesn’t plan much._ In the background, Magma-Tron cackles, and you rush around the corner to avoid a wild swing from the flaming hammer, then wipe the sweat from your brow and hastily add, _Self-confident to a fault. Maybe we can use his arrogance to our advantage?_

It takes you a second to process the uncomfortable dampness of your hand, but once you do, you grimace, taking a second to wipe the sweat on your pants-- then freeze halfway through the motion, holding your hand back up to squint thoughtfully at the wet sheen; it’s not two seconds before your gaze shifts to the ground in front of you, which is wet even in the area closest to the wall, away from the stream.

_Wet… fire… he’s fire. We’re in a sewer!_

The jubilation of the idea makes you grin, but you also feel like it should’ve been obvious, and you have no clue how it took you so long to make the connection. While you dig the liter-size water bottle out of your bag, you remember Mother’s broken message from earlier on that night. 

_“The only known weakness is wa… wa… wa--”_

“Water,” you whisper to yourself, dropping into a crouch and twisting the lid off the bottle. “Of course!” As you reach to fill it, you pinch your nostrils shut to keep yourself from heaving at the stench. From the workers’ path you’d been walking down, it hadn’t been too bad, but from this close? It’s a different story altogether. 

Around the corner, you hear Krel grunt, followed by Aja shouting his name; fear shoots through you, and you force yourself to work faster, filling the bottle to the brim with sewer water and pocketing the lid before getting to your feet and moving to stealthily look around the corner. What you see does nothing to assuage your mounting fears: Krel lies on the ground, unmoving, and he was obviously thrown there, judging by the distance and his reaction-- and Aja is pinned between Magma-Tron and the wall, protected only by the already-flickering shield function on her serrator. You have to move now.

Before you can even fully process it, you’re moving, running forward at a speed that surprises even you; the bounty hunter is barely starting to turn toward you when you reach him, and you snarl, using the chance to throw the water directly in his face. Immediately, he howls in pain and rage as his faceplate cools down, a thick cloud of scalding steam rising from the surface area the water hit; twisting around in shock and agony, he grabs at his face with his hands, letting his guard down on Aja, who seizes the opportunity to rush out of his grasp and over to her brother’s side. 

“Krel?” She questions, resting a hand on his upper left shoulder. There’s a tremble in her voice-- just barely audible, but there nonetheless, and it does nothing to soothe your worry for him. On instinct, you take a step toward him, but before you get the chance to see if he’s okay, Magma-Tron steps into your path, his mechanical exosuit still furiously steaming. For the second time in as many minutes, you bare your teeth and snarl at him.

“Move,” You say. In your fury, your voice lowers into a growl and takes on a commanding tone you previously didn’t know you were capable of. “Or was that not enough for you?”

At this point, you’re aware that you’re pushing your luck-- you’re outright challenging him, but for some reason, you’re not afraid anymore; instead, you feel a steely sort of determination rising in your chest, making you stand a little straighter as you glare him down. 

Still, the steam rises, and he says nothing. In your peripheral, you see Eli and Steve helping a still-disoriented Toby out of the sewer. Zadra, meanwhile, moves ever closer, only adding to your confidence. 

“This planet,” you begin, taking on a matter-of-fact tone, “has a surface which is 71 percent water. Sometimes, when the conditions are right, it falls from the sky, and there’s no escaping it.” You set your jaw, daring to take a step forward. Then another. And another-- until suddenly, you’re half a foot away from him, still holding onto your water bottle. It still has a little puddle of sewer water at the bottom, so you hold up the bottle and shake it side to side in a threatening manner, eyeing the bounty hunter to gauge his reaction. 

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, but does tense slightly, and you continue. “As long as the Akiridions are here, they’re under our protection-- our planet’s and our people’s,” you state. Behind Magma-Tron, you see Zadra’s eyebrows fly upward at your bold declaration, her weapon lowering just a fraction as her grip slackens in her shock. You only spare a second to take that in-- the sight of Zadra, the brilliant warrior and strategist from a futuristic, hyper-advanced society, impressed with _you_ \-- before shaking it off for later, focusing your gaze back on the threat and hardening it back into a glare.

From here, you decide it’s time for a finishing move, and you take on a false, casual tone-- almost goading him. If you want to get through to this hothead, you’ll have to speak a language he understands: fear, violence, trash-talking, and ruthlessness. 

“So, if you want, you can stay. Just _try_ and get to them-- you won’t. But I promise you-- if you stay long enough, keep trying? Sooner or later, you’ll find yourself getting doused. Maybe you’ll take a dip in a lake; get caught in a downpour. Maybe someone’ll find you and hose your sorry ass into orbit.” You shrug. “I don’t know the details-- but what I do know is that you’ll either be sorry you stuck around, or too dead to regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't actually remember if they were in the sewer but i guess they are now sfghghjk


	3. Not Quite Last (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you go on a rollercoaster ride, both emotionally and plot-wise. Based on the finales of Trollhunters S3 and 3Below S1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be a really long one-shot, but I feel like it will flow better as two parts. (The second part is yet to be written.) 
> 
> Also, we finally get to see & interact with some of the Trollhunters gang! (I do love them, I promise, I've just been in a 3Below mood more recently!) This chapter was actually in the works way before the others-- it was the second thing I wrote for Tales of Arcadia.

You have to admit, you’re getting a little bit frantic. You’ve looked everywhere for Krel, but between the crowds of kids and the chaos, it’s proving pretty hard to find him-- if he had even come to school today. After all, it’s the Tarrons’ last day on Earth, so you’re sure there are preparations to be done… but you could’ve sworn saying goodbye would be one of them. You’re just beginning to think he really had stayed home when you see his hair through the crowd: he’s over by his locker. 

_Finally,_ you think, and fight your way over to him, dodging the cluster of kids crowd-surfing Eli over their heads. 

“Krel, there you are! I still need to sign your yearbook!” At the sound of your admittedly breathless voice calling out to him, he straightens up and turns around, surprise and hope playing over his features-- which would be weird enough on its own, but before that, you could swear you saw him looking upset. “... Hey, you okay?” Once you reach him, your concern can’t help but come out. 

“Now that you’re here… maybe,” he grouses, but doesn’t elaborate, simply shaking himself of his mood before he hesitantly hands over his yearbook and holds his hand out for yours. You’re right, you realize-- he does seem a little less amiable than usual. _Now to figure out why, or… at least cheer him up a little._ The shy smile on his face is hardly a fraction of the one you’re used to seeing from him, but you exchange books anyway, giving him an extra sunny grin in return. You’re rewarded for your efforts with a slightly more genuine smile on his end-- one that’s just beginning to reach his eyes.

When you finally manage to look away from his stunning visage long enough to open his yearbook, you see… the usual. Lots of “Have a great summer!” messages and, even less personal, “HAGS”. The only unusual thing seems to be that there isn’t much else, but you shrug it off, thinking maybe he hasn’t made his rounds through the throngs of people yet; so instead of focusing on that, you busy yourself by settling down against the lockers and flipping through to find a good spot to write. You’re just about to bury yourself in writing your message when Krel crouches down, tilting his head to give you a look, a strange expression on his face. His brows are furrowed the way they do whenever he’s confused or contemplative, but considering all you’ve done is sit down, you’re at a loss for an explanation.

“What are you doing?” He asks, as if it’s not obvious. 

“Uh... sitting?” You respond, unsure. “I’m going to be writing for a while, so I wanted a more stable surface to write on. Sorry, were you going to open your locker?” You lean forward and move to get up, realizing that you might be in his way, but you’ve hardly moved an inch before Krel is gently pushing you back by the shoulder and settling down next to you. 

“No! No, I was just… surprised.” He says after a pause that goes on for a few beats too long. Uncertain, you nod and go back to writing-- but not before you spot Aja peering through the crowd in your direction, a concerned expression on her face until, spotting you sitting with him, the concern melts into relief and she resumes talking to Mary and Darci. Okay, so maybe you aren’t the only one who noticed his sour mood.

Turning to the last page of his yearbook, you wrinkle your nose in a grimace and the words tumble out before you even realize what you’re saying. “Ugh, _fligshaag,_ what a dick...”

It’s barely left your mouth when the mortification hits, and you feel like you’re going to die of embarrassment. You freeze, unsure of how to proceed, but it doesn’t even last a second before Krel bursts out laughing, holding his stomach and nearly throwing his head back against the lockers-- and suddenly, it’s worth the discomfort. People are looking your way now, but Krel is too busy riding out his amusement to notice, and you find yourself grinning along, getting over the awkwardness to keep this precious Akiridion smiling as long as you can. 

“What?” You tease, poking him in the side, interrupting his raucous giggles with the tiny squeal the motion evokes, and his torso jerks away from you to avoid the sensation. At this point, you think your grin might split your face in two. “Did I say something funny? Hm?” You continue to tease him, poking his side until he cries from laughter and holds your wrists in his hands, yearbooks laying off to the side, forgotten. 

“Great Seklos and Gaylen,” he gasps, “Stop!” But he’s still grinning and his eyes have regained that lively spark, so you consider it a win and relent, leaning back to your previous position. Then you scoff, stretching out and crossing one leg over the other. 

“But seriously, what kind of person writes a message for someone in _somebody else’s_ book?” You shake your head, and Krel bumps your shoulder as he throws his hands up in the air, making you lose your grip on your pen. 

_“Right?!”_

“Oh, man,” you sigh, watching the pen roll to a stop in front of Coach Lawrence, who stops and bends over to pick it up, then looks in your direction and brightens, which is definitely weird. You glance around, trying to figure out who he’s actually looking at, and when you look to your right, past Krel, you see Aja approaching.

_Ah. That makes more sense,_ you think as he jogs over. 

“Tarron!” He shouts, his volume as alarming as ever, and you feel your heart drop as you see Krel’s head shoot up hopefully. _Oh, no._ “There’s my star student!” 

You barely have the time to throw your arm out in front of Krel to keep him from standing before the coach rushes past you to gush over Aja; you know you protected him from an even worse letdown by keeping him sitting down, but it still kills you to watch the words die on Krel’s lips and the spark leave his eyes. For a second, he just seems upset, but then he turns bitter, mumbling under his breath, so quiet you can barely make it out. 

“Oh, yeah, Aja, Aja, Aja! Ay-yi-yi,” he grumbles, trailing off. Trying to break him of this stormcloud that’s been hovering over him all day, you bump his shoulder again, and he simply shoots you a look. _Ouch,_ you think, your heart aching with the sting of it-- but you try and keep in mind that he’s dealing with a lot and that it’s the turbulent teenage emotions making him act like this, and not his actual feelings toward you. 

“Hey,” you nudge him, voice gentle. “The coach stole my pen, so we’ll probably have to share, but we should sign each other’s yearbooks. We got sort of distracted,” you remind him, and pick up his yearbook. “I’ll even cover up Steve’s stupid love note.” He snorts and nods sort of half-heartedly, picking up your book as well. You’ve just pulled a bright blue sticky note and some tape-- and a spare pencil; what do you know, apparently you did have a spare-- out of your bag to tape it over Steve’s note and written most of yours on it when a pen drops into your lap and Krel jumps up, greeting the math teacher and startling you out of your writing reverie. Quickly, you decide your note is long enough, and you sign it before you can get distracted again. 

Then, curiosity awakened, you glance over at the note he left in your yearbook, and when you locate his handwriting, you have to stop and double check-- see if it’s actually from him. But there’s no denying it.

_“Hey, I hope you have a klebtastic summer.”_

Even Aja doesn’t say klebtastic. 

Your note to him takes up the whole sticky note and then trails off the bottom edge onto the paper. Classmates you barely even knew had written you more personal messages than this, and he… 

_Is this his way of letting me down easy? Of breaking up with me before he leaves for Akiridion-5?_

You know you’re probably jumping to conclusions here, but it hurts; suddenly, you think you understand why he had been upset before, when you found him by his locker. You come back to your senses just in time to hear Ms. Janeth brush him off and get his name wrong. And even though you’re confused about his message, it makes you mad. 

“His name is Krel!” You shout after her at the same time as he says, “It’s Krel!” 

For some reason, it catches him by surprise-- you’re not sure why, since you always correct people when they get his name wrong. Maybe he forgot you were there. He turns, and your eyes meet at the same time as the earth starts to shake. You think you hear him call for you, but over the rumbling, you can’t be sure, and when it dies down, you grab your backpack and leave, mumbling a quick “gotta go,” under your breath, leaving your yearbook laying on the ground next to his. By the time he looks up, you’re gone. 

At the speed you’re walking, desperately trying to put some distance between you and the school, it only takes you ten minutes to get to Jim’s house, but you’re still five minutes late. “I’m here!” You gasp. “I’m here.”

As soon as you swing open the door, you’re swarmed. Barbara, Claire, Toby, Strickler, Merlin-- _everyone_ on Team Trollhunter crowds around you, and you hear your name in at least a dozen different voices before Barbara starts a group hug, which you notice Merlin stays very distinctly out of. Shooting him a sneer, you gesture (as much as you can, being clung to by so many people) for Strickler and Nomura to join in. It takes a moment of hesitation before either of them move forward, but you see the hint of fondness hidden in their eyes when they step in and hug you.

Barbara is the first to speak up after the group splits apart, demanding to know, “Where have you been? You had me worried sick!”

You offer up a sheepish smile, digging around in your bag for something, then pulling it out to reveal three yearbooks. “Here,” you say, handing one to Toby and one to Claire. “I picked them up for you guys. Had the other students sign ‘em for you if they wanted to.” You watch as Barbara’s face softens and she wipes her eyes, and suddenly you feel really guilty for worrying your team mom so much. “Sorry,” you whisper. “But it’s Krel and Aja’s last day in town today. I had… I had to say…” 

You don’t even get to finish your sentence before you’re crying, and Claire is the first to pull you into another hug. “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay. _Va estar bien,_ sh, shh…”

Just then, you hear Jim plodding down the stairs, and you look up to see him. At first, when he rounds the corner, he looks like he’s going to chide you for being late-- but that’s before he sees the tear streaks down your face. By that point, he’s rushing over to hold both you and Claire, pushing the others out of the way more roughly than he needs to-- not that he means to: he just hasn’t gotten completely used to his increased strength after becoming 30% troll. To be fair, neither have you, and you only became 20% troll. (It probably wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had, jumping in after him, but in your defense, it was magic and you thought he might be dying at the time. So yeah, the changes are confusing, but you’d do it again, without a doubt. Even with the dangers of both of you having newfound strength.)

But now-- right here, right now-- you wouldn’t even know about his increased strength from the gentle hug Jim sweeps you into. You end up with your face pressed up against his chestplate, the tip of your nose brushing the rim of the amulet, and you feel him bury his nose in your hair, nuzzling the top of your head. 

“What happened?” He asks. His voice is so soft, you almost feel it more than hear it, rumbling through him like the purr of a cat, and you relax even further into your partners’ embrace. 

You’re not sure you can respond, but it turns out that you don’t need to; with all of you knowing each other so well, the question had actually been directed at Claire, and her response is just as quiet and immediate. “It’s the Tarrons’ last day today,” she whispers, and you feel his shoulders slump. 

“Oh, no,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. Slowly, gently, you feel the hug start to sway from side to side: a soothing, rhythmic motion which had been introduced by you-- long, long ago now, and actually not too long after Jim first became the Trollhunter-- and was then quickly adopted by your whole group. 

After a moment, you feel the others start to pull away, and you want to protest, but they stick close, and you realize-- upon unsticking your cheek from Jim’s armor and untangling your fingers from Claire’s hair-- that everyone else has cleared out to give you some privacy. You hadn’t even thought about the audience. Or, for that matter, the yearbook still clutched in your hand. 

As Jim and Claire gently guide you to the couch, you pull it into your lap; looking down at it, you notice that your hands are shaking, and looking at the cover just makes you think of Krel’s message, so you look up and sniffle, then lean against Jim, passing the book onto his lap.

It takes him a minute to look at it-- he’s too busy studying your face and tucking loose hair behind your ear-- but when he does, it takes him another minute to fully recognize what it is, and it actually startles him. “Y… You got me a yearbook?” 

You just nod, then reach over to turn to the page with his picture on it. After everyone at school had signed it, you had drawn a tiny yearbook-photo of Jim’s new look and taped it over his old photo. Beside it, you had written on a sticky note, _“Jim Lake Jr., you are single-handedly one of the smartest, most talented, kindest, strongest, and overall best people I know. Your cooking is amazing, your hugs are even better, and there is no one in this universe who would make a better Trollhunter than you. You deserve the stars and more. My life and the world are similar in that they’re both blessed to have you in them; just because you’re different now doesn’t mean everything has to change. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s changed you, but you’re still the Jim I love, and you always will be. I believe in you.”_

… Okay, so it's two sticky notes stuck on top of each other. Regardless, you tap the note and watch as his eyes trail over the words. A glance to your left shows Claire reading her own note. Both of them have tears in their eyes, a hand pressed to their faces, and soon enough, you feel your fingers being wrapped up by theirs. 

Claire is the first to finish hers-- or, at least, you think she is? Jim might just be rereading it over and over again, honestly, because he keeps flipping between the two notes and squeezing your hand every so often. Claire is the first to finish looking at hers, at least, and when she does, she’s uncharacteristically quiet, carefully shutting the book and setting it to the side. For a second, she just pulls your hand into her lap and runs her thumb over the back of it, but then she turns to you. It seems like forever that she studies your face, and you’re not even sure when it happens, but suddenly you’re aware of her hand on your cheek and her breath on your face and _her lips on yours._ She kisses you like you’re the chance of a lifetime and you’re about to slip through her fingers; like everything else she does, she pursues you like you’re the finish line of a race, or a lifelong dream about to be realized. For you, she’s fierce. And intense, and warm, and _home,_ and then she’s in front of you and you’re gasping in a breath you didn’t even realize you desperately needed. 

“I love you,” she says, simply, “so much.” And she curls up against your side to bury her face in your shoulder. 

Then you feel Jim shifting beside you. And you hear him sniffle. 

Hoping to help soothe him, you bring your joined hands up to your lips and press a delicate kiss to each of his fingers, then reach up and wipe the tears from his cheeks. You notice the tear tracks running down his cheeks, and know he’s been crying this whole time, but you decide not to say anything, figuring you’d said enough in the note and that’s the reason he’s crying anyway, so you’ll give him some time. When those familiar brilliant blue eyes meet yours, you both lean forward, resting your foreheads together. You’re not sure who initiates it, but soon, your lips meet in a soft kiss, so feather-light you find yourself questioning if that warm almost-pressure is his lips or the feeling of a warm and gentle summer breeze-- but it’s him. No one and nothing else could make you feel so cared for, so safe, and-- oh, he’s cupping your cheeks now. _Wow._ You feel like the world, _his world,_ held in his hands so carefully, even as he pulls away; his breath on your lips is the feeling of freedom, and the pressure of those lips returning to meet yours, time and time again, is like the cresting of the ocean tide against the shore, beautiful and serene and powerful. And when you open your eyes, all you see is blue. Those eyes… they capture you, but you don’t feel trapped. You feel protected, because… well, because _he’s_ home for you, too. 

This time, when you break apart from the kiss, it’s your voice that permeates the quiet, not your partner’s. “I adore you,” you whisper, voice cracking from the tears you’d shed. His thumb traces a trail across your cheeks, still cupping your face as he closes his eyes and softly rubs the tip of his nose against yours. 

“You mean the world to me,” he replies, as if you couldn’t already tell from the _everything_ about him. Afterwards, he presses a chaste kiss between your brows and pulls you and Claire closer; this way, you’re halfway on his lap, and Claire is still curled around you. You didn’t even know whether or not Claire was still awake, but apparently she is, because after he moves you both, she shifts and stretches her arm over your shoulder, tangling her fingers in Jim’s hair. He sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut, his head tilting to rest against yours, while Claire rests hers on your shoulder. Your head tilts back slowly until it rests on Claire’s arm, and then... it’s quiet. Just three teens facing the end of the world and pretending, for a moment, that everything is fine. 

At some point, you drift off, and either so do they, or they don’t have the heart to move you-- but you wake up to the feeling of being tangled up like a big, conscious pretzel… and also the sound of Blinky and Merlin squabbling. Squinting at the clock across the room, you gasp and lurch forward, bringing both of your cuddlebugs into alertness with you.

“What? What’s happening?!” Jim gasps, lurching forward and pulling you back toward him, knocking the wind out of you as you’re pressed into his chestplate, his sword at the ready. Claire, on the other hand, simply jumps to her feet, summoning her staff to her hand; it knocks several books onto the floor in its beeline to reach her, making a rather large ruckus, and Jim whips around, pointing his sword in the direction of the noise. It takes them a second of staring at each other, dumbfounded, to realize there’s no threat, and then they slump back onto the couch with a sigh. 

“Are you okay?” Claire asks you, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. You suppose that this whole ordeal definitively answers the question of whether or not they’d drifted off with you. 

“I’m fine, sorry,” you reply, stretching and moving to grab your shoes. As you pull them on, you notice that the sounds of argument from the dining room have stopped. “But look at the clock. Battle of the Bands starts in like ten minutes, and I _promised_ Krel and Aja I would be there. I have to go. I’ll see you guys later, okay?” In response to your pleading gaze, they both nod-- hesitantly at first, but more certain by the second-- and glance between you and the clock. Jim is the first to get up and take the few steps necessary to wrap you up in his arms, but Claire isn’t too far behind. “Stay safe,” you whisper into their ears, more like a prayer than a reminder.

“You too,” she says. 

“Take care of yourself,” he murmurs.

“And for goodness’ sake, _don’t screw it up!”_ Merlin exclaims from the doorway, cantankerous and cacophonous as always. The sudden volume is startling enough that the three of you jump apart, and you shoot a glare his way, stepping in front of Jim protectively. 

“Careful, _Merlin,”_ you hiss, spitting his name like an insult. “If it’s _your_ advice, I might just consider going out of my way to make sure I don’t follow it.” Last time your team took his advice, Jim had lost his sense of identity and he had almost lost his ability to walk in the sun; when you went in after him, no one was sure if _either_ of you would be able to see the sun ever again. Luckily, that hadn’t been the case, but after that, you stopped trusting the cranky magician and his counsel.

“... And if it’s mine?” Blinky’s voice pipes up, and he pushes Merlin aside ever so slightly-- which is probably not necessary, but oh, _so_ satisfying-- to squeeze through the doorway, crossing all four of his arms and fixing you with all six of his eyes in order to give you a preposterously stern look. 

Impressively, you last a whole five seconds of tense eye contact before you sigh, knowing you’ll have to give in. If the two of them are in agreement, it’s serious, and everyone knows it-- how could anyone not, with how much the two bicker and straight-up fight? _“Yes,_ Blinky, I’ll be a good little Trollhunter and follow the plan.”

“Good!” He responds, seemingly missing the point completely-- or maybe he’s just ignoring the sass, which is, honestly, more than likely. “The fate of the world depends on it!” He adds cheerfully, and you feel yourself wilt a little, then glance at the clock, hoping for an excuse to leave. 

“Anyway, I have to go,” you say again. “Battle of the Bands is on in five, and Krel is the third act. I can’t miss it.” With that said, you give both Jim and Claire a kiss on the temple and then shove your way past Merlin, far rougher than Blinky had, making your way out the door at a dash and leaving the house a shouting match once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly it kind of turned into a sappy poly romance AND a study of Claire and Jim's characters in a romance and im not sorry in the least
> 
> i am slightly bleghghghfhgh about krel's characterization in the first bit but im going to...... ignore my feelings about it for now
> 
> also !!!!! let claire speak more casual spanish you FOOLS (va a estar bien means it's going to be ok. but the a kinda blends between va and estar, so i didn't type it. don't really know if that was the right choice but yknow)


	4. "Safe"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aja wakes up -- based on 3Below, S2E11: "Race to Trollmarket" (21:22 - 21:50)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't see the Reader this chapter, but they are mentioned for a second. You'll see!

Everything after the fall is dark: for a moment, Aja wonders if she’s dead. The idea sends a pang of anxiety through her chest and makes her feel something the humans would call “queasy”. It is then that the world begins to slowly fade back in through her senses, relieving her fears of leaving her family and life behind. Unfortunately, the world brings with it an entirely new pain, localized in the direct center of her forehead; she must have come into some rough contact with a crystal on her way down. 

Around her, her vision blurs and sways with lag, and her ears ring with static feedback from the impact. Through the mess, she registers blue-- lots of it-- and something in the back of her mind clicks: home. With it, the last remaining dregs of anxiety evaporate from her chest completely, replaced with a warm feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time: contentment. Letting her eyes flutter shut, she savors the feeling, one hand rising to rest over her chest while her lips curve into a gentle smile. For a moment, all is well-- then, through the now-nearly imperceptible ringing in her ears, she hears three frantic voices which easily shatter the moment as quickly as it had formed, despite sounding vaguely like they’re underwater.

_“Aja!”_

_“Krel!”_

_“My lieges!”_

The blue becomes brighter as the rocks before her are pulled to the side, revealing Toby and Aaarrrgghh. Though she can perfectly well see the way Toby’s brows cinch together in concern and the way his mouth moves, obviously speaking above his normal volume, the words he speaks are delayed and muffled. _“Are you okay?”_

When she tries to focus, the pain in her head shoots up in intensity, almost an unbearable amount, and her face contorts in pain as she groggily pushes herself up into a sitting position. The sudden change in perspective sends her vision spinning when she opens her eyes again, and she raises a hand to her aching forehead.

“Are you okay?” Toby repeats, his voice registering in her mind much more clearly this time. Vaguely, she notices his tone has changed slightly-- less frantic, probably because he can see she’s alive, and more emphatic, a little slower. Maybe he’d realized she can’t hear properly.

In lieu of an answer, she dizzily pushes herself up even further, standing even as the world spins in protest. Despite herself, she ends up spinning with it, looking around to take stock of her surroundings and making sense of things again. Her gaze lingers on Krel for a moment as she does so; he seems very visibly worried as he looks back at her. 

“Take it slow,” Toby’s voice sounds nervous now, almost conciliatory. “It’ll be okay.”

In the fraction of a second that passes between the moment she registers his words and the moment her train of thought gets rolling again, a spark of a thought flies through her brain-- barely formed-- wondering why he would be so desperate to placate her; before it can form anything more substantial, though, it fizzles out, squashed by the return of her most recent memories and the beginnings of a horrifying realization. When she speaks, it’s rushed and urgent, but her voice cracks on the way out. “Morando-- where is he?” Now, as she glances between her companions, she’s the one sounding frantic.

From behind her, Varvatos’ voice pipes up, low and uncharacteristically slow. “Varvatos regrets to inform you that he got away.” Toward the end, his tone transforms into something akin to a growl-- he’s just as displeased with the result as anyone. 

That isn’t what concerns her, however; his response only fuels the fire of the realization, and inside her, it bursts to life, growing and evolving into a fully-fledged burning horror. Her core pulses with heat, her mind racing as the realization hits her, and she raises a hand to her forehead once more, brushing her fingers nervously through her hair. In her panicked, unstable state, her senses wobble violently-- her vision swims with both pain and tears, and her ears begin to ring once more-- and with her senses, she collapses onto her knees, breathing heavily. Immediately, her brother is by her side, resting two gentle hands on her back and peering at her in open concern. “Aja? It’s okay,” he soothes, then exhales shortly. “At least we’re all safe.”

“Yeah,” says Toby. “But now the universe _isn’t.”_

In response, Aja simply dips her head and shuts her eyes-- whether in shame, fear, or sadness, it’s difficult to tell. Beside her, Krel’s breath hitches, his eyes widening while his jaw falls slack; it’s true. With the core in the hands of someone like Morando, his words are nothing but a facade: no one is truly safe. Dread coils in his gut as the thought sinks in, and on reflex, he turns to you-- only to find that you’re not there. After a quick glance around, a shot of fear pierces his chest. “Uh, guys…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: S2E11 is literally my favorite episode of the whole franchise so far. It's just so emotionally _powerful_ , and it's so integral to Krel's personal growth, it's just as satisfying as it is heartbreaking. I'm so proud of him!! And it's so cool to have the true purpose of The Deep explained, as well as see how the Trolls and Akiridions came together to make the vault. The buildup toward the end of the episode is perfectly done: you can really feel the tension and how much is at stake, and there's a personal investment there that I can't put my finger on. "This is my home," will always be the most powerful turning point in fiction for me-- kudos to Diego Luna for a perfect execution of the scene.

**Author's Note:**

> the first chapter here was supposed to be smut but i chickened out, so take that as you will


End file.
